Yo! Welcome back to The Reeder Newsletter — your weekly dose of content strategy and growth advice. First time reading? Subscribe here.
Last year, my CMO put me on the spot:
“How are you using AI in your marketing? Present it next week at the leadership offsite.” I froze because I wasn’t really using AI. I was dabbling, at best.
So I had to figure out workflows (which at the time was hardly the popular phrase it is today) annnd communicate it back to my peers and boss.
Great.
Turns out, that's still a big issue.
Notion just surveyed 1,000 professionals and found the #1 blocker with AI isn’t fear — it’s not knowing how to use it effectively and confidently.
And just as important — not knowing how to talk about it.
So I partnered with Notion to create the AI Confidence Kit. It’s a short quiz and template that helps you:
– Figure out exactly how you’re using AI today – Spot real opportunities to improve – Clearly explain it to your team and boss
If your “AI strategy” still feels vague or cloudy, give this a go. It's helped me (and my clients) a ton.
I scrolled down the forwarded email. My friend had sent me the famous article below. It depicted the legendary writer, Hunter S. Thompson's alleged writing process.
I had to Google Chivas (beer) and Dunhill (cigarettes).
I laughed at the list. Doubt it — I replied. I was around 27 and still clinging to the vague, fading dream of becoming a professional writer. I figured if something’s that sensational, it’s by design—not accident. The article did inspire me, though. Luckily not to pick up illicit habits. (And to be clear: I do not support nor glorify substance abuse.)
Because, as crazy as it is, I realized he has a writing process.
He knew how to manifest ideas. Which at the time felt like magic to me.
Did I have a writing process? I guess if you're honestly asking, the question answers itself. I did not have a process. I didn't even consider myself creative. Funny, sure. Witty, definitely. But if someone called me creative, I would check over both shoulders, assuming an artist holding an easel stumbled into my shadow. It forced me to reconcile that to be a great writer, I ought to have a writing process. At first, I imagined writers of old, sitting by candlelight, dipping a quill into a pond of ink and draping words across parchment paper. It sounded cursive and flowy and important. Then I pictured the modern writer. Sitting down in front of a keyboard or a typewriter, cracking their knuckles in front of them. They take a deep sigh as their fingers greet the keys like pianists do, then brilliance just poured out of them. Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack, clack.
But that's not how I wrote.
My writing sort of just happened. Usually, I'd be walking through downtown San Francisco, hyper-aware and vigilant of cars running stoplights and barreling into crosswalks out of turn, homeless people asking and sometimes assaulting others for money, and the occasional professional so deep into their phone that they nearly sideswipe me walking past.
Escaping mild inner-city "danger" got my blood slushing around. A jolt of adrenaline got my brain firing too. I liked it. When I crossed to a quiet street and my brain felt safe again, I'd pull out my phone and ideas would escape through my thumbs. But that wasn't a process. That was luck dressed as inspiration. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not.
That was nearly 10 years ago.
I don't live in the city anymore. I don't walk through SF's chaos anymore. And I don't duck cars or individuals for sport, either. But I still need a writing process. And if you're in a creative role, you do too.
I later learned that Hunter's process above was more lore than real life. In fact, Thompson commented, "Obviously, my drug use is exaggerated, or else I'd long since be dead."
His process is extreme. But I love how bizarre it is. It taught me that there are no rules to creativity. It gave me permission to rebel. To be bizarre in my own way. And just as important, it motivated me to exercise my creative freedom and design a writing process that's exclusively mine. Mine to make, break, and rebuild as I change and evolve. Today, I proudly make part of my living as a professional writer. And I've designed a creative process for writing on tight timelines.
1 shot espresso over 2 oz of milk. I barely even stir. I like the jolt from the bitter jumper cables that pour from my cup.
Get to movin'. I don't do "cold starts." Sometimes I do house chores for 15 minutes. Sometimes I go for a walk and let ideas simmer. If I sweat, even better. Just move. A writer in motion stays in motion.
Two rounds of editing, then let it fly. Anything more and you work the originality out, and the familiar in. No thank you. If I need 3+ rounds, then the original idea either wasn't that good or wasn't clear enough. Kill it and start again.
Write to entertain, not to teach. The best conversations invite in and keep us past curfew — and we're grateful for it. Entertain like your first date depends on it. They'll come back for your personality. Besides, no one likes a know-it-all.
There are no rules. There's no "right" way to write. Only the way that gets your ideas out there for others to see and enjoy. And hopefully, it brings you joy as well. And that takes away a lot of the pressure. And makes it a helluvalot more fun.
